


Nice one Bunsen!

by hobbeshalftail3469



Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith
Genre: Poor old Strike!, Robin and Strike doing a bit of role play, Robin slapping Strike, Shanker punching Strike, helping out Shanker, kiss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-12
Updated: 2018-08-12
Packaged: 2019-06-26 10:56:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15661830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hobbeshalftail3469/pseuds/hobbeshalftail3469
Summary: I LOVE the Shanker character, this is one were he asks Strike for a favour for a change.





	Nice one Bunsen!

Robin walked into the office after popping out to grab sandwiches for lunch to hear Cormoran’s unmistakable deep voice together with another, equally unmistakable cockney drawl……Shanker.  
She approached Strike’s office door, it was open and she could hear an odd, and obviously part way through conversation:  
“I’m telling you, she can’t pull that off!” she heard Strike almost shout.  
Shanker’s reply, “She’ll be alright. She’ll be able to carry it off for long enough. Blimey, I don’t need her to be BAFTA nominated.”  
“No way, Robin just wouldn’t be able to do that….it wouldn’t be……believable!” came Cormoran’s voice again.  
The idea of them discussing her behind her back, and Strike’s obvious consideration that whatever Shanker required was beyond her got her dander up and she pushed open the door more forcefully than she’d intended.  
She walked into the office carrying Coronation Chicken on seeded bread and a bag of crisps for him and their conversation ceased. Both men turned to her and silently regarded her, up and down……if it hadn’t been the pair of them, in the office, in the middle of the afternoon it might have seemed pervy!  
“See, told ya’…..no way,” smiled Strike ripping open the pack of sandwiches and demolishing half a triangle in one bite.  
Shanker’s expression seemed a little crestfallen too.  
Robin looked down at herself, feeling a little angry still and not quite understanding what it was about her appearance that had resulted in the comments. She was wearing a pair of grey, woollen ¾ length trousers, her black, kitten heeled shoes and a peachy coloured shirt with small black dots on it.  
“What?” she shrugged her arms wide, demanding more information.  
“Nah, Bunsen’s right….much as I hate to admit it…..you’ll be no good,” he sniffed and opened the bag of crisps, earning and ‘OI!’ from Strike through a second mouthful of sandwich.  
“No good? No good at what exactly?” Robin’s hackles were now up – she was good at her job….she studied and worked hard and was learning all the time…..how bloody dare they come to conclusions without her knowledge!!!  
Cormoran finished his sandwich and shrugged, sensing her vexation, “Shanker needs to show an…..’old friend’ that he’s in charge…..he wanted you to go into the club place with me, we’d pick a fight and he’d throw me out…..obviously proving to anyone who may just happen to be in that same club that old Shanker ‘ere is an hard nut! I said there is no way you could do it….he now sees my point!” and he swiped the packet of crisps from Shanker.  
Robin was now fairly livid, “And why exactly do you think I couldn’t do that? All I’d have to do is walk into a pub with you and bicker….Christ, we pretty much do that a few times a week!”  
Shanker screwed up his nose, “Nah but, this club….it’s a bit rough and ready init……you’d ‘ave to scrub up rough…..no one lookin’ like you would be seen dead in there.”  
Robin felt slightly flattered that Shanker, and evidently Cormoran didn’t consider her to be ‘rough’….but she was still angry that the pair of them had decided this.  
“Right!” she turned on her heel and stormed out.  
“You’ve upset ‘er now,” sniffed Shanker as he helped himself to the last half of the sandwich Strike had briefly put down.  
“Shit!.......and buy your own fuckin’ lunch Shanker!”

Less than 10 minutes later ‘Robin’ appeared in the office causing the pair, who had both lit up cigarettes to gawp for the second time and give her an up and down considered gaze.  
She had applied a significant amount of make up – including 2 very evident streaks of pink blush to her ‘cheekbones’, she’d given herself ‘Scouse Brows’ and applied more of everything basically. She’d plaited her hair across the top of her head, finishing it at one side and had raided her ‘emergency clothes’. She was now wearing wildly coloured exercise leggings, Timberland style boots and had removed her shirt to reveal a peach camisole which was topped off with a black hoodie Strike used at night, she’d fastened the zip a little and pouched it off the back of her shoulders.  
“Wot do you two fackin’ pervs fink you is lookin’ at,” she retorted, giving it her best Anne-Marie!  
Shanker slapped his hand against his thigh, “What did I tell you Bunsen?! Eh?! Perfect!”  
Strike smirked and ruefully shook his head, which turned into a full blown belly laugh when she momentarily forgot her character and reverted to Robin again as the phone rang and she answered it with her usual, “Cormoran Strike’s office” bell like tone.  
______________________  
Around about 10pm they had arranged to meet outside the closest tube to the very dodgy club. Strike was wearing beat up jeans and his usual massive coat – he considered with a small wince that he’d actually not had to do anything differently in order to ‘fit in’!  
They discussed the plan as they walked towards the pub – they would enter as a couple, go to the bar, then Cormoran, or Mick as he was being called, would start getting arsey and loud with Aimee, Robin’s cover name. He’d acuse her of sleeping around, then he’d start getting a bit handsy and she’d slap him away. He’d come back for more and at that point Shanker would move in and remove him. The idea being the ‘action’ would go on outside and Strike’s character would give up and leave, allowing Shanker to return, eyeball a particular ‘old friend’ and then leave himself. Their reward would be 2 freebies from Shanker – basically £400 in lieu!  
‘Mick’ draped his arm around ‘Aimee’s’ shoulder and she fixed a scowl across her face so that she wouldn’t giggle if she saw Shanker in there.  
Strike ordered a pint for himself and bottle of WKD with a straw for ‘Aimee’, he saw the briefest look of disgust cross her face and masked his amusement; but she had to admit, Aimee would not be a white wine drinker! She masked horror when she sipped some of the ludicrous blue flavoured liquid into her mouth!  
Strike clocked Shanker across the room, playing pool and clearly he gave some signal to Strike, because he grabbed at the bottle and slammed it down hard onto the bar, glaring at her:  
“So you fuckin’ expect me to believe that again do ya?” he shouted in a decent, rough London accent.  
‘Aimee’ kicked in, “I’m tellin’ ya ve troof!....’an anyways, dat stuff, dat woz all in da past init,” and she put her hand on his shoulder as planned.  
‘Mick’ slapped her hand away, “You are a fuckin’ lyin’ bitch!” he screamed, an inch away from her face – she could smell the beer on his breath, mixed with a tinge of his cigarette smoke….it was incredibly arousing!  
“Don’ you call me a liar! I can do betta’ van you,” and she turned to leave, causing ‘Mick’ to push her back into the bar – again, as they had discussed on the way; but Cormoran shoved her with a little more power than needed and she clattered into her WKD bottle.  
“You don’t leave me, bitch,” he shouted again, grinning in a sadistic way.  
As planned she brought her right hand sharply across his cheek to a resounding crack. His beard had felt less rough than she’d imagined, and she’d struck him a little harder than she intended, but she was 'in the zone.'  
“Come ‘ere…..fuckin’ whore…..I’ll show you,” he started to drag himself after her, but Shanker was now on him:  
“Oh no you don’t……nobody ‘it’s a woman in ‘ere ‘cept me!” and he punched Strike across the opposite side of his jaw, slightly cutting his lip in the process. “Get OUT!” Shanker shouted and shoved Strike’s massive bulk towards the doors and outside.

Strike rubbed his jaw and spat away the blood and walked towards the location he’d selected to meet – in the open, well lit. Robin was there and he caught her shocked and guilty look when she saw his face and bleeding lip.  
“Oh God, Cormoran…….I didn’t do that did I?” she hovered her hand towards him, scared to touch it and make things worse, so instead she threw her arms around his neck and held him, “I’m so, so sorry!” Strike considered accepting the sympathy and remaining there in her clutching embrace….but he was just too honest, so he smirked and shook his head against her.  
“No….although that slap was….well, I reckon that was pent up….something! Was it just 'cos I made you drink blue, alcoholic paint thinner?” he grinned. “This was Shanker, the bastard….layed one on me before chucking me out…..THAT was NOT in the plan that I signed up for!”  
Robin pulled away slightly, but didn’t release her hands from around his neck, hardly noticing that she’d begun to entangle her fingers into the unruly curls at the nape of his neck. It didn’t go unnoticed by Strike however, nor did the highly charged look in her eyes as she looked at the small cut at his lip.  
“Do you wont Aimee to kiss it betta?” she asked, shyly in her broad cockney accent.  
Strike inhaled deeply and shook his head, “No…..I’d like Robin to though,” and he leaned closer into her, feeling her smile briefly against his lips before lightly pressing against his, taking care to focus on the non bleeding side. He moved his mouth against hers and the tip of her tongue slid against his lips deliciously as they shared each others’ breath.  
He felt his phone buzz in his pocket and when he withdrew it later, much later, he saw the message was from Shanker, ‘NICE ONE BUNSEN!’


End file.
